Naruto: Born Gifted in Konoha

At the site of Saitama's previous battle, a ninja wearing an animal mask landed on a tree branch.

His mask and long robe covering his entire body made it impossible for others to discern his identity.

He stood motionless on the tree, gazing down at the devastation without any visible reaction, as if he had seen such scenes countless times before.

Perhaps he had been standing there for a minute, maybe even less, when the ninja pulled out a small scroll from his pocket and took up a brush pen, immediately beginning to write furiously, seemingly determined to record everything about this place.

It didn't take much time before the ninja stopped writing, appearing to be reviewing what he had written.

Poof! Hands touching the ground, he summoned a black bird—but not a Corpse Crow. It was a grotesque bird with an enormous, exaggerated beak.

As soon as this summoned creature appeared, it skillfully gripped the branch with its feet and looked toward the ninja.

The ninja didn't speak a word, directly tossing the scroll to this Boss Summon, which then willingly swallowed the scroll whole before flapping its wings powerfully and flying off into the sky, leaving the forest behind.

He kept his gaze on the retreating summoned creature for several seconds before forming a [Ninja Seal] with both hands. His body instantly transformed into countless insects that crawled along the trunk and disappeared from the scene.

...

Saitama walked forward dressed in clothes that weren't quite his size, but he seemed entirely unfazed as he strode through the streets, quickly locating the destination he sought.

Iwagane Izakaya!

That was the name of this izakaya establishment—without comment, Saitama walked straight inside.

Although still quite young, Saitama possessed a powerful physique, so nobody dared stop him.

Anything that could reveal his identity had already been carefully stored away by him.

After all, nobody here knew who he was. Furthermore, due to the ongoing war, many strangers had arrived in town, making suspicion unlikely.

As he stepped inside, Saitama barely perceptibly frowned because the atmosphere inside the izakaya wasn't great—loud and filled with an especially unpleasant smell, which completely clashed with the establishment's reputation.

However, considering these unusual times, Saitama thought nothing of it and continued walking inward.

Soon, he found an open seat—this early in the evening, the izakaya hadn't gotten crowded yet.

Feeling the money in his pocket, Saitama pulled out a crumpled banknote and placed it on the counter.

"Pour me one!"

Without concern for the server's expression, Saitama acted entirely naturally.

Taking Saitama's money, the server said nothing and turned to pour him a glass of cheap beer—the cheapest one he could afford with the cash he had.

Thump! The glass hit the bar counter with a dull sound. The server, acting perfectly normal, pushed the glass toward Saitama.

"Sir, your drink!"

Nodding slightly, Saitama displayed subtle excitement on his youthful face upon seeing the alcohol—just like a kid sneaking around to do something they're too young for, he couldn't hide the flicker of excitement in his eyes.

The bartender couldn't help but notice Saitama's expression, but he had no intention of saying anything. He saw teenagers like this every day—those not yet old enough to drink who secretly wore their parents' clothes trying to look more mature.

Step through that door and they were his customers. Whether the person buying alcohol was underage didn't bother him much.

After handing over the drink to the boy, the bartender turned to serve other guests. Compared to this clearly broke kid, the elderly regulars who came from all corners of the country were much more generous.

Saitama held the cup with both hands. It was a thick-bottomed large cup, looked big but could only hold so much alcohol.

But Saitama hadn't come here to drink, so he didn't care about such details.

Inside the izakaya, there were five round bars, each staffed by two or three servers handing out drinks.

Saitama sat in a quiet corner—exactly where he wanted to be.

Though nobody recognized him, staying alert was second nature for any ninja.

Every now and then, he brought the cup to his lips for a sip. And while lifting it, he boldly observed everyone inside the izakaya.

At the nearby bar counter were four Stone Shinobi. From the sounds constantly coming over, Saitama figured they were logistics ninjas responsible for transporting supplies.

Beside those shinobi sat another group—at first glance, these samurai didn't seem very approachable. Each wore a cold expression. Even while drinking at the izakaya, they kept their spines rigid, sitting as if still on duty.

These samurai kept glancing toward the entrance like they were waiting for someone.

That was Saitama's take on the samurai, and it turned out he was right. Soon, the front door opened and a tall, powerfully built samurai walked in. With perfect timing, the group stood up and stepped forward respectfully to greet the newly arrived warrior.

Shifting his gaze away from them, Saitama continued observing others. After all, he still had more than half a cup left and could keep pretending to drink.

The izakaya offered countless pieces of intelligence for Saitama to collect. He needed to pick individuals of interest from among these people and learn more about them.

Hidden behind that thick-bottomed cup, Saitama didn't bother to hide his observations. He made every effort to deduce useful information from appearances alone, filtering and selecting carefully.

Creak! The door swung open, and a gust of icy wind slipped through the crack into the room.

Several customers near the entrance set their cups down, clearly somewhat displeased.

However, once they lifted their heads and saw who it was, they quickly lowered their eyes again, not even daring to let out a sound.

Shihara Shin had his belly exposed, wearing only a ninja vest over his top half. Striding in confidently, he ignored everyone else's feelings.

He glanced around and spotted the only available seats at the corner bar, so he headed straight there.

Slowly putting down the cup, Saitama revealed a satisfied expression on his face. About one-fifth of the drink remained inside the cup.

Shihara Shin had been feeling unusually irritable lately. Whether it was work or personal life, he found himself overcome with a helplessness he'd never felt when he was younger.

The worsening situation at the frontline and the death of his son felt like two massive mountains pressing down on him, making this aging man struggle to lift his head high.

And right about now, alcohol was the only thing that could ease his anxiety.

A waiter watched Shihara Shin take a seat beside a rather scruffy-looking young man and grinned.

"Same order as usual, sir?" The waiter spoke familiarly; this ninja lord had become a regular customer recently, always generous with tips.

"Hmm." Shihara gave a slight nod. He glanced around briefly and noticed Saitama. Instantly, he categorized Saitama's identity—his thoughts not differing much from what the waiter had assumed.

Saitama also noticed the ninja sitting beside him, but remained in his original posture without showing even a hint of nervousness.

From everyone's behavior inside the izakaya, plus the fact that nearby conversations from a table of Stone Shinobi had suddenly fallen silent, he knew this muscular ninja, though clearly advanced in age, was no minor figure.

Shihara propped both hands against his forehead, eyes staring at the table surface, again recalling the intelligence report he had just received before coming here.

A squad of ninja patrolling nearby had been completely wiped out—the method nearly identical to how his own son had been killed.

He grew increasingly gloomy, so he left work earlier than usual and came straight here.

"Your drink, sir!"

A bartender carried a tray full of various colored drinks similar to cocktails in Saitama's memory, although the glasses looked somewhat different.

Shihara waved his hand and dropped several bills onto the counter. The bartender's face brightened instantly as he collected the money.

The bills were worth more than the drinks alone — the rest was clearly for tips. Just this single tip was almost equal to what he usually made standing all night at the izakaya.

Saitama remained composed outwardly but kept a sharp eye on everything, maintaining the indifferent look you'd expect from someone his age.

Slurp! Shihara chugged the entire glass in one go, exhaled deeply, and his face flushed lightly.

Of course, this little bit of alcohol wouldn't easily get him drunk — this redness was simply a normal physical reaction.

Picking up his cup once again, Saitama gently sipped off the foam layer before returning it to the table.

Perhaps because of the alcohol already in his system, or perhaps due to emotional turmoil, Shihara suddenly said to Saitama, "Kid, finish your drink soon and go back home. Don't make your family worry."

Saitama felt slightly surprised yet pretended to understand, putting on a mature expression.

"I know, old... uh, mister!" While speaking, he glanced at the ninja's beard and hair, hastily changing his words.

"My son was around your age. No one knows how a parent feels better than I do. So in the future, don't dress like this and come places like these. You'll have plenty of time when you grow up!"

Thinking of his late son, Shihara showed restraint — though at the moment he saw his son's corpse, he had not reacted outwardly, that was only because his subordinates were there.

He'd always been that overbearing boss—never willing, or rather never daring, to reveal any sign of weakness.

But the person sitting before him now was a complete stranger, a young man about the same age as his son. Something deep inside him stirred instantly, shattering the cage around his words.

He didn't speak. Instead, he reached for his cup, took another sip of the golden-colored liquor, and felt a slight flush creep into his cheeks.

"Old man, don't lecture me, alright? I've already heard enough at home. I'll finish this drink and head straight back, okay?"

Saitama shook his cup slightly, displaying some impatience, deliberately making himself appear more like an ordinary teenager his age.

"Tch!" Shihara Shin huffed in annoyance.

Shihara Shin let out a sigh, then brought his cup to his lips and emptied it in one gulp.

"You're a ninja, right?" Saitama pointed at the forehead protector on the Stone Shinobi, his face showing a look of admiration.

"Mm." Shihara Shin nodded. He knew being a ninja was something many civilians admired.

Yet, for a fleeting moment, he felt somewhat resentful toward that very identity—but the thought was quickly suppressed.

It wasn't like this was the first time something like this had happened. Once this war was over, he'd just start again—build a new life, a new family.

Trying to shake off his thoughts, he tilted his head back and downed another glass.

There were five cups lined up before Shihara Shin, three already emptied.

As a shinobi, he could never really get drunk, so he allowed himself no more than five drinks a day—just enough to ease the pressure without clouding his duty.

Saitama sat up straight, drained the rest of his drink in one go, then tapped his fingers lightly on the table.

"Well, old man, I'm heading out first!"

Saitama gave a slightly awkward smile, stood up, and made his way toward the exit.

His target was already in sight—a group of Stone Shinobi leaving their seats for the main entrance.

"Mm." Shihara Shin nodded slowly, acknowledging the question.

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